Beautiful People
by pange
Summary: One mysterious train guy, one city girl, and one day that changes everything. My contribution for Fandom Against Domestic Violence.


Title:  Beautiful People

Author: Pange

Rating: T

Summary: One mysterious train guy, one city girl, and one day that changes everything.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

I live in a beautiful city, surrounded by beautiful people. Tall, willowy women in impossibly high heels brush past me in the subway station. Cute short girls in miniscule skirts and carrying expensive handbags skip past me to grab the last spot in the elevators at work. Older men with salt-and-pepper hair ignore me on the train, reading email on their Blackberrys and chatting on their cell phones. Young men with purposeful strides outpace me on the sidewalk. And every single one of them is achingly, incredibly good-looking.

This would, of course, be bearable if I could count myself in that number. But no, I am in fact a plain girl, slightly chubby with an old-fashioned name. Every morning and every afternoon as I commute to and from work, the eyes of the beautiful slide over me as if I don't exist. I can't say that I blame them. Everything about me is bland. I am of average height, with average blue eyes, and shoulder length blond hair. My world is completely devoid of color; a wasteland of grey.

There is only one incandescent spot of vivid luminosity.

Every weekday morning, my alarm rings at six. I get up, make my bed, and shower. I eat my oatmeal standing over the sink. I pour some food for my cat, Skittles, and make sure there's nothing too nasty in her litter box. I blow-dry my hair, slick on some mascara, and dress in one of a number of black or grey-skirted business suits complete with low-heeled sensible shoes. I grab my bag and hurry out the front door to the Metro station. I never allow myself to be even five minutes late.

The reason for this always walks in front of me on to the escalator at 7:22 every morning. He is one of those impossibly beautiful people, but sometimes his eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second before sliding over me. On those days, it is enough to keep my mind occupied until the evening train, where I wait breathlessly in case his eyes meet mine again.

Every morning and every evening, I watch him from a safe distance as we descend into the station, always making sure I get on the same car. He is tall; my head barely brushed his shoulder the one time I got too close. Unlike mine, his blue eyes are the most astonishing shade of cerulean and they stand out like jewels against his smooth, fair skin and the sable wave of his short hair. He dresses impeccably in fine suits that fit him like they are tailored for his body. He is classically handsome with a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and a well-defined waist.

All of this is what caused him to catch my eye. But it was his socks that made me fall in love. One morning as he slid into a seat, the leg of his trousers hitched up, exposing the tops of his shoes and, unbelievably, socks that were plastered with the image of Spongebob Squarepants. I was so surprised by this revelation that I laughed out loud in the quiet train car, causing several people, including him, to turn in my direction. Mortified, and feeling my cheeks staining red, I fiddled with my MP3 player, trying to pretend that it was something I was listening to that caused my outburst. But from that morning on, I watched his feet carefully, and was pleased by the appearance of several other cartoon characters, along with several different types of animals and whimsical patterns. I don't know his name, but I am in love with a man who wears expensive serious suits, wire-rimmed glasses, and cartoon socks.

Of course, the dimples in each cheek and the blinding white smile don't hurt either.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Autumn is my favorite time of the year. I love the way the trees flame with color, their bright reds, oranges, and yellows painting the landscape with fire. The cool weather seems to invigorate my fellow city dwellers. Everyone walks a little faster and smiles a little more.

But even autumn can't save my Thursday this week. In my world, Thursday is TV night. All of the best shows are on, but as I make my way out of the Metro station, my arms are laden with work files and I know that I am once again facing a very late night. I left work two hours later than normal, which means I have also missed my favorite time of day with the demigod in the cartoon socks. My disappointment is a bitter pill to swallow.

I duck into the coffee shop around the corner from the station, planning on caffeine to fuel my walk home and my evening working. There is a line, but it moves quickly and it isn't long before I'm back out in the biting night air, clutching my steaming venti mocha with an extra espresso shot.

Head down against the brisk wind, I charge around the corner, my mind already cataloguing the files clutched to my chest. To my great dismay, I plow right into a solid wall of a person. Gasping, I watch in horror as my folders scatter across the dirty sidewalk and my precious mocha drips down the front of a white t-shirt. His hands come up and grasp my shoulders, steadying me on my feet. I look up into cerulean blue eyes and a dimpled smile.

It is him.

Tears well up in my eyes at the unfairness of the situation. I kneel to gather my files, wishing I could disappear through one of the many cracks in the pavement. I am horrified when he kneels in front of me.

"Here. Let me help." His voice is pitched low and a little rough. The slightest hint of a Southern accent has me shivering from more than just the October air.

"I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going," I gasp, shoving papers into the folders that weren't clasped shut. My only thought is to remove myself from this situation and get to the safety of my apartment. My humiliation sits heavy on my shoulders and I can feel myself flushing. He laughs slightly and my eyes burn.

"It's really okay. No blood, no foul," he grins at me and my heart stutters in my chest. Having successfully collected my belongings from the sidewalk, we stand and for the first time I see what my drink has done to his shirt.

"Oh! I've ruined your shirt!" I cry, patting the stain that has spread across his chest. My hand stills as I realize that I am actually touching him. Well, more like molesting him, since I don't have permission to touch him. My cheeks flame again, but before I can drop my hand, he covers it with his and smiles at me.

"I promise, I'm okay," he assures me softly. I bite my lip, trying to stop the tears from falling in front of him. I have had a shit day, I'm missing my favorite shows, and now I've humiliated myself in front of the world's most perfect man. I'm moments from drowning myself in my own bathtub.

His smile falters and he bends down to peer closely at me. His brow furrows and I realize that he has begun stroking my hand, still captured against his chest.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice is laced with concern and it isn't helping my crying situation. I sniff and try to pull away, but he doesn't let go.

"I'm really sorry. I should go. I'm so sorry about your shirt."

"You're really upset, aren't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he lets my hand go and I let it fall limply to my side. But then he shocks me by taking my work files from me. He grasps my elbow with his free hand and steers me back in the opposite direction of my apartment. "Come on. I just live around the corner. I can change my shirt and we can replace your coffee."

I can do nothing but gape up at him and follow meekly. Common sense would tell me to stop this before it gets any further. There's no way I should be allowing some strange man to steer me towards his apartment. I'm not some young ingénue, naïve to the ways of the world. Rationally, I know that by following him, I could be opening myself up to horrible things. City workers could be finding my chopped up body in tomorrow's trash.

But this is Train Guy and I know, without a doubt, that I can trust him. At least with my physical safety anyway.

"So my name's Emmett. I've seen you on the train in the morning, and most afternoons, right?" He looks at me and I realize he's expecting a response. I can only nod. He blushes slightly and turns to enter the security code for his building. We ride silently up the elevator to his floor. I search my mind desperately for something to say, but "I love you, please let me have your babies" somehow doesn't seem appropriate.

The elevator stops on the ninth floor and I follow him down the hall. He lets me go long enough to unlock the door and push it open, waving me forward in front of him. The small foyer opens immediately into a large living space with a huge window that faces out over the city.

The lights draw me forward immediately and I gaze longingly out at the cityscape. Everything is so resplendent and clean looking from up here. The red light at the top of the Washington Monument winks at me from off in the distance.

I turn as Train Guy, Emmett, walks back into the room. He is just tugging a fresh t-shirt down over his shoulders and I am struck dumb by the unobstructed view of his chest and stomach. He is lean, which I knew, but there are thick cords of muscle roping across his chest and down his arms. There is some kind of dark ink tattooed over his heart, but it disappears all too quickly behind the light blue of his new shirt. His abdominals couldn't be more sculpted if he were made of clay. The sharp "V" of his hips disappears into scandalously low track pants.

I am suddenly hyper-aware of my own physical imperfections and I tug uneasily at my jacket.

Smoothing his shirt down, Emmett steps closer and smiles gently.

"So do I ever get to know your name, Train Girl?"

I grin at the similar nickname.

"Rosalie. But everybody calls me Rose." I peek up at him, wishing I had an ethereal name like Isabella or something. I've always thought Rose was your weird aunt that always kisses your cheek at family gatherings and talks endlessly about her cats.

Emmett captures my hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing his mouth softly to it as he begins to recite.

"_A flower was offered to me;  
Such a flower as May never bore.  
But I said I've a Pretty Rose-tree.  
And I passed the sweet flower o'er."_

"William Blake!" I exclaim, shocked that this beautiful creature is quoting poetry to me.

Emmett smiles at me, delighted. "So you're gorgeous and smart! It's very nice to officially meet you, Rose."

I am momentarily struck dumb by the sheer force of his gaze; I have gone mute at the sight of the dimple winking at me from his cheek. To my great disappointment, he releases my hand and turns away.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything fancy, just regular coffee," he calls back over his shoulder, padding barefoot into the kitchen.

"That's fine," I call back, turning to peruse the built-in shelves lining the wall next to the window. "I really can't stay long. I have some work I need to catch up on." I trail my fingers along the spines of the books on the first shelve. A well-worn copy of a William Blake collection makes me smile.

There is a clatter from the kitchen and a low curse. Emmett pokes his head around the corner and grins at me. "No worries. Everything's under control." He disappears again, leaving me smiling stupidly at a blank wall. Shaking my head, I turn back to the shelves. There is a picture of a slightly younger Emmett, smiling broadly in a black graduation gown. His arms are around an older couple that looks remarkably like him.

There is another of Emmett roughhousing with a bronze-haired boy and another with blond hair. I can't help but smile at the boisterous maleness of the picture.

My fingers trail across the smooth wood as I wander toward the next frame. This frame is wooden and holds a picture of a girl with big brown eyes and short dark hair. A small ball of dread forms in the pit of my stomach. Pulling my hand away from the frame, I glance over the next couple of frames.

Every one of the other frames shows the same beautiful girl. One caught her clinging to Emmett's back, both of them laughing and hanging on to each other. Another picture shows them embracing; the girl's cheek is pressed to his chest, her eyes are closed and there is a small smile on her face. Even more disturbing to me is the look on his face; his mouth is pressed to the top of her head in a kiss and his arms are wrapped around her shoulders.

My hand recoils and I back slowly away from the bookshelves. I consider running, escaping through his door and into the safety of the night. I really thought he liked me, but instead he has some beautiful, tiny girl tucked away somewhere. Tears press against the backs of my eyes. I feel like a world-class, Grade-A fool.

Emmett appears back around the corner and I whirl around to face him.

"Here you go," he grins and hands me a cup of steaming liquid.

"Thanks," I murmur, taking a small sip. The coffee is just like I like it, sweet and light.

We stand there silently for several very long moments. I can feel his eyes on me, but I cannot look up and meet his gaze. The image of that tiny dark-haired girl keeps bouncing around in my brain.

Finally Emmett clears his throat.

"Why don't we sit down, Rose?"

My heart trips in my chest and I thrust my coffee cup at him.

"I really need to go. Again, I'm so sorry about your shirt. Thanks for the coffee!"

He snags my hand with his before I can get too far.

"Wait," he says, confused. For a moment we stare at each other and then his eyes shift to the photos on the bookshelf. Understanding slides across his features and his whole expression brightens. His thumb begins stroking along the skin of my hand.

"My family." He gestures to the picture of him with the older couple. "My parents, Carlisle and Esme. The next one is me with my friends, Edward and Jasper." He pauses and I hold my breath. "The girl is Alice, my best friend. She and Jasper got married about four months ago."

The breath whooshes out of me as I struggle to readjust my thoughts.

"Your best friend?"

Emmett nods. A smile of pure relief blooms on my face.

"She's lovely," I continue. "Your whole family is. You seem very close to them."

He hands my cup of coffee back to me and then pulls me toward the leather couch. This time I let him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

My alarm sounds at the normal time the next morning. I stretch in bed and then bound out from under the blankets, impatient to get on with my day. Impatient to see Emmett, to reassure myself that last night was not a dream.

I stayed for a while, intrigued with the way Emmett's mind worked. I probably should feel disappointed that he didn't touch me except to stroke my hand, but I can't help but just feel lucky that I got the time with him that I did. Of course, this doesn't stop me from wanting more.

I rush through my routine and am out the door almost ten full minutes early. I force myself to walk slowly so that I don't arrive at the Metro station too quickly.

I linger at the newsstand by the entrance and watch as people stream through. My heart sinks as I realize that if I'm going to catch the train, I need to go now, but I still have not seen Emmett arrive.

Crestfallen, I make my way to the train and slouch into a seat. I place my bag on the seat beside me, discouraging anyone else from sitting there and ignoring the dirty looks that some of the standing passengers send my way.

At the last minute, just as the doors are closing, Emmett slips through. He finds me immediately and smiles and I can't help the way the corners of my mouth lift in relief. I move my bag and he collapses into the seat beside me.

"Wow, I really didn't think I was going to make it," he pants. I study him. He's dressed completely different today, in jeans, boots and a sweater instead of one of his suits.

"Why are you dressed down today?" I ask finally. He grins and lifts one of my hands to his lips.

"Rosie, you like me right?" He watches me from the corner of his eye and grazes his lips across my knuckles. I can feel myself blushing furiously, the heat rushing to my face.

"I do," I whisper, completely unable to make a joke out my feelings. He smiles.

"Then I have a favor to ask. Play hooky with me today."

I stare at him and then laugh.

"Very funny, Emmett."

He tries his best to look wounded. "Who's joking, Rosie? Come on! Play hooky from work with me. You know, there's very few of this kind of day left." He trails off and watches me as I consider.

He's right, of course. Despite the autumn colors outside, the day is bright and the sunshine promises unseasonal warmth later. I attempt reason one last time, but he and I both know that I won't turn him down in the end.

"I'm not dressed for it," I say, gesturing with my free hand at the suit and heels I'm wearing.

"Easily handled. Trust me."

He tucks my hand under his arm and stands, pulling me up with him, just as the train pulls into the next stop. We exit and Emmett takes a moment to get his bearings as I dig my cell phone from my bag.

I make a quick call to my assistant, Jessica, and then Emmett and I head right.

"So where are we headed first?" I ask him, turning my phone off and tucking it away.

"First is breakfast. There's a great diner right…..here," he stops in front of a window filled with cakes and pastries. He opens the door and waves me inside.

Breakfast is good. I am amazed at how much food Emmett packs away while I barely touch mine. He tells story after story of growing up in the south near Memphis. His stories about Edward and Jasper, who are practically his brothers, make me laugh out loud.

He tells me about Alice, how fragile she was when she first got to his school, how it took years before she trusted him enough to share the trauma that had changed her life. He doesn't tell me what the trauma was and I admire him even more for not sharing what is obviously private to her.

Something in my chest twists as his eyes soften and he tells me how he watched Alice and Jasper, two of his very best friends, fall in love with each other. How they circled each other before giving in to their feelings.

We finish breakfast and then it's my turn to talk as we make our way back to the train station. Emmett has tucked my arm back under his and listens quietly.

My usual reticence at revealing too much of myself falls away under Emmett's gentleness. I chatter on about Skittles and my job; my banker father and society-obsessed mother; about growing up in a large, lonely house with a string of nannies for company; about feeling constantly overlooked by people more beautiful than me in the city that I love.

Emmett frowns a bit at the last revelation, but doesn't refute my statement.

By the time I get through all of this, I'm unlocking my front door and waving him inside. He stops inside the door to look around and then a smile of pure pleasure crosses his face as Skittles makes an appearance and winds a sinewy circuit around our ankles.

"Will he mind if I pick him up?" Emmett asks, hands already reaching for the tabby.

"Go ahead. I'm just going to get changed."

I head toward my bedroom, but look back before turning the corner in the hallway. I freeze, enraptured by the image that the two of them paint. Large, masculine Emmett has scooped Skittles up and is rubbing his face in all of that soft fur. Even from where I stand, I can hear the consistent purring emanating from Skittles' chest as he soaks up the attention.

The last bit of the icy wall around my heart melts away into nothingness and I scurry in to the bedroom, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

After I change, Emmett and I make our way back to the Mall. We stroll past several of the monuments and then stand quietly and respectfully in front of the large wall inscribed with the names of those lost in Vietnam.

I watch as a weathered older man reaches forward and traces the tips of his gnarled fingers along one of the names etched in the stone. Tears slide down his face and, even from where I stand, I can see them fall and gather on the ground.

Without fully understanding why, tears gather at the back of my throat and I bite my lip. Almost as if he senses my distress, Emmett slips his arm around my waist.

"Come on, let's get some lunch," he whispers, his breath ruffling the hair near my air and causing me to shiver. We turn and leave the old man to his grief.

As we walk, Emmett lets his arm slide from around my waist, but links his fingers with mine. We amble along quietly, both of us lost in our thoughts.

I am amazed and awed by what I know of this man. How can it be less than twenty-four hours since I literally bumped into him on the street? How differently my life looks in just that short amount of time!

"Hot dog?"

Emmett's voice startles me out of my thoughts as he pulls me to a stop in front of a vendor cart.

We order our hot dogs and then find a free spot on the green grass of the Mall. We eat quietly. I notice that Emmett keeps looking at me from under his eyelashes and my appetite begins to fade.

I chew the last bite of bread gone to dust in my mouth and chase it with a swallow of water. I feel inexplicably like I'm waiting for the axe to drop. Like any moment Emmett's going to realize how amazing he is and how amazing I'm…..not.

Suddenly he smiles at me and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"Rose…" Emmett begins, before stopping and studying whatever is going on behind me. I turn and look but can't see what could possibly have caught his attention.

"Rose, earlier you said that people don't see you. Do you really feel that way?"

I study his face, contemplating his motivation for asking. The golden fall sunshine glints in his hair and for the first time, I am close enough to see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes as he squints into the brightness.

"Well, sure, actually. I do feel that way," I say finally. He frowns and plucks several strands of grass out of the soil. I wait for him to say what's on his mind.

"I don't like that you think that way," he blurts fiercely, blue eyes lifting to meet mine.

I'm struck speechless by the vehemence in his voice. I have no defense against his words or the hand that lifts to stroke my cheekbone.

"I see you," Emmett whispers, caressing me with his hands and his low voice. "I've always seen you. Ever since that day you laughed out loud on the train. You have the most beautiful laugh I've ever heard. I've spent every day since then trying to think of a way to hear you laugh again."

Tears well up in my eyes as I watch him. His sincerity is unmistakable and I can barely breathe for the joy that is bubbling inside of me. He grins suddenly and leans closer.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

I smile, nod, and lean in even closer, until the scent of him tickles my nose in a very pleasant way.

"You have mustard on your lip," Emmett whispers. I have a fleeting moment to feel embarrassed and then he closes the distance and he is kissing me.

I am swept away by him, by the heat of his mouth and the softness of his lips. Emmett licks softly at my lips, but pulls away before I can open to him.

"Did I really have mustard on my mouth?" I ask.

Emmett laughs quietly and shakes his head.

"No, I was just looking for a reason to kiss you," he whispers. And then he does it again, cupping my elbows in his massive hands and tugging me until I'm sprawled inelegantly across his lap.

I giggle and then get down to kissing him.

And I feel beautiful.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Thanks to Mycrookedsmile for beta-ing._

_Excerpt from "My Pretty Rose Tree" by William Blake. _

Song list used for inspiration:

"Make You Feel My Love" by Adele

"The Girl With the Flaxen Hair" by Debussy

"Cosmic Love" by Florence + the Machine

"Love Song" by Miranda Lambert

"Shelter" by Ray LaMontagne


End file.
